Not Simple As Black And White
by FannieForever15
Summary: Somewhere within me, I want to curl up against his chest and just let it out. Everyone has a breaking point, and everyone needs someone to rely on. To what extent can Anastasia and Christian's relationship endure Christian's trying, demanding ways? How far can it go before driving the couple apart? Spoilers for Fifty Shades Freed.
1. Chapter 1

"What do you _mean_ you're going to work?" Christian snaps.

We've had this argument nearly every morning since Little Blip had been discovered, and I, quite frankly, am sick of it… but I know he is, too.

"Oh, Christian…" I sigh, fighting to stay cool, calm, and collected. It's nearly impossible when my stomach is doing flips. This man never fails to keep my on my toes. "I'm perfectly capable of going to the office and sitting at my desk all day. It puts no more strain on me than sitting right here does. The only difference is that _here_ I have you berating every breath I take."

...Oops. Too far?

He lets out a breath of exasperation and fists a hand in his hair, a very Christian thing to do.

Uh oh.

Before he can get a word in edgewise, I continue on, figuring that I might as well get my words out now while I have the nerve. "I've been jumping on every demand you throw my way. You tell me to eat, I eat. You tell me to sit for a few minutes, I find the nearest chair. You want me to get an extra hour of sleep? Fine. I can make that sacrifice, but now you want me to give up the _one thing_ that's making me sane right now? The one thing that allows me to do my own thing, maintain some form of control? That's not okay in my book."

My inner goddess takes a deep breath, preparing to unleash herself fully on this frustrating man before me. "I just want to go to the office, do some paperwork, skim over a couple manuscripts, and drink some tea. Now is that just too much to ask?" As much as I try to keep the tears out of my raising voice, I fail miserably. Thankfully, I manage to sound more rageful than tearful, though.

He nearly gapes at me. Good. "What has gotten into you, Ana? It's not like you to overreact." And though I know that he's not purposely provoking me, it still brings about the same emotion: fury. With my already heightened emotions, my burning hot tears spill over and down my cheeks.

"I hate this!" I all but _shriek_ at him, my voice shrill. If my words don't get through to him, maybe my tone will. "This is enough. You can't just hold me prisoner here!"

"When it comes to your well being, yes I can, Ana," Christian retorts, his voice much calmer than mine, but I can still see how irate he is. "It's not just you."

"It's not just you," I say in a scornful, mocking tone. "That's all you ever say anymore!"

This makes him seethe. "Because it's true, Anastasia," he hisses, and I flinch at the harshness of his voice. "You're so thoughtless when you're like this. It's like you don't even care about this baby."

My dams break—no, they crumble, shatter… fragmentize—and sobs break free from deep within my chest. He realizes the meaning of his words a second too late, and reaches a hand out, no doubt to wrap me into an apologetic hug.

Somewhere within me, I want to curl up against his chest and just let it out. It would be a cathartic release, him stroking my hair, me fisting my hands in his crisp, white dress shirt. He'd relent to me, allowing me to get ready and go to the office without fuss, Taylor driving me there and Sawyer in the passenger seat beside him.

I'd be safe, and I'd feel safer yet because I was in his arms.

Regrettably though, my mind realizes that this is _Christian_ we're talking about—my stubborn, unyielding husband, and before I even become conscious of my own thoughts, I lose it.

Lashing out at him, I slap him—hard—surprising myself even, then quickly back away. I stand cradling my stomach, scared that he'll hurt either of us. He blinks at me, and I suddenly hear this awful, animalistic weeping, and it's such a horrible noise that I glance around the room to find who's responsible for such a sound.

Until I realize that it's me making these noises.

Christian stares at me, and I continue to back away, toward the door to our bedroom, and once close enough, I flee out of the room. I find myself colliding with a solid figure, and their hands reach up to steady me as I waver on my feet. Looking up, I see that it's Taylor. In absolute mortification, I stare up at him. _This is almost worse than the time he caught me in my state of… nearly undressed._

After a few seconds of intense staring and confusion, he clears his throat. "Mrs. Grey, are you not well?"

Reminding myself of an animal who feels threatened, I steal a glance to my left, then to my right before looking back at him and nodding a couple of times. Normally I'd offer him some kind of verbal reassurance, but… nothing comes to mind. Nothing I say will be right. Even my inner self gawks up at this man. As close as I'd gotten to Taylor, Gail, and Sawyer… I still don't feel comfortable laying my feelings out in front of them.

Letting me go, he takes a step back. He watches me carefully for a few more seconds before again clearing his throat and nodding. "Will you be ready at the normal time today for work, Mrs. Grey?" His usual sense of formality has returned and he's obviously uncomfortable and beyond confused, but I barely notice, nor do I really care.

In response, I offer a single shake of the head before walking down the hallway with shaking hands, wanting to put as much distance between Christian and I as possible.

Once I've reached the kitchen and see Mrs. Jones setting two mugs on the breakfast bar, I briefly wonder where I thought I was running to—I didn't get very far, did I?

Offering a soft smile as per usual, Mrs. Jones pours boiling hot water into my mug, setting a single tea bag next to it. "Why, good morning, Mrs. Grey. Can I interest you in the usual, or is there something else you'd like this morning?"

Almost like a deer caught in headlights, I stare at her, for some reason not knowing how to react to her kindness.

She knows in an instant that something is wrong—of course—and wipes her hands on a towel before approaching me. "Mrs. Grey?" she asks questioningly.

I reach up to scrub the tears from my eyes, surprised to find that they have halted for the time being. I look back in the direction of the bedroom, as if expecting Christian to be standing there. He's not, but instead I hear the muffled tones of a conversation from within the room—undoubtedly Taylor quizzing my husband on what my malfunction is.

"Mrs. Grey," Gail murmurs again, stepping closer. At her kind, gentle voice, my walls collapse again—hormones?—and I feel tears streaming down my surely rosy and swollen cheeks. Placing a hand on my arm, she watches me with eyes full of concern. "Ana, dear, why don't you take a seat?" she suggests, but my mind processes it as an order, and I find myself sitting shakily on the nearest stool, with the help of her guiding hands.

Without saying anything further, she picks up the tea bag she'd set out, dips it into the water, then disposes of it before pushing the mug toward me. "There you go, dear."

I can tell she wants to say more, but she bites her tongue. I gaze down at the mug and simple wrap my cold hands around it before laying my head down on my arms and silently sobbing, my shoulders trembling hard.

Uncharacteristically, Gail closes a drawer a little harder than necessary, breaking her constant calm and causing me to flinch. She storms out into the direction of the bedroom, and I watch her, not lifting my head from my arm, shocked at this unfamiliar side of her.

Honestly, my other emotions outweigh my curiosity about the spectacle occurring in the other room. I squeeze my eyes shut and let my sobs go of their own volition. I weep and weep to no end, not knowing when it'll ever stop.

Suddenly I get the urge to make sure that Little Blip is okay, and I caress my stomach without ceasing my lament.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Hey everyone! I got very mixed reviews on my first chapter, so please let me know what you think of this one! Hope you enjoy!**

After what seems like at least a half an hour, my tears run dry, and my throat turns raw. In my slightly bleary state, I tune in to the conversation still coming from the bedroom.

"Maybe John Flynn can help," I hear Taylor's voice suggest.

"I do not need my shrink, _Jason_." Whoa. First name basis? Christian sounds absolutely furious… maybe I should—

"With all due respect, what you _need_ , Mr. Grey, is to take a step back from this." That was Mrs. Jones. It's odd to hear her address him in such a manner. I don't think I've _ever_ heard her speak to him like this, in a motherly, authoritative voice, but I mean, she did sit me down to make me drink my tea.

"I'm going to check on her," he mutters, and I hear his footsteps approaching.

"No," I call out hurriedly, but it's not a call for help or a scared cry, it's simply a tired plea to be left alone in my desolate solitude. He doesn't listen to me—of course—but nevertheless, he is stopped in his tracks when he sees me sitting at his kitchen island—an absolute _wreck_.

"Oh, Anastasia…" he sighs, obviously still enraged, but he approaches me anyways. I don't have the strength to look up at him, but I do curl my arm around my belly protectively.

Rather than the gentle, soothing reassurances that I so desperately want to hear out of his mouth, I am surprised to hear an unwavering demand.

"Look at me."

When I shake my head, my body quivering with weariness, he crouches down in front of me, sitting back on his heels. He grabs my chin in his hand, quite roughly, and tilts my head so that my eyes meet his own gaze.

"I asked you to look at me," he whispers, not unkindly but still angrily, and I can tell that it's taking him a load effort to hold back his displeasure, which means he must have message to get across.

"You are not to go to work today, understood? I've given Taylor implicit instructions not to transport you there, and I expect you to follow this order as well," he tells me, never breaking eye contact. For some odd reason, I'm finding him very intimidating, and not in the good way.

"You're not a prisoner, Anastasia, you know that. Why don't you have Kate come and take you downtown and do some shopping for Junior?" he suggests, as if he didn't just demand me to stay away from the office. "I want you taking the day off today, taking it easy," he says with a sense of finality, disregarding the fact that I'm sitting before him with puffy eyes and snot dripping from my nostrils. If I weren't so distressed, I would be mortified that he's seeing me in such a state, but I just can't find the will to care.

I train my gaze at the floor, though he still holds my chin up. I hear him let out an exasperated sigh. "This all could have been avoided had you just _listened_ to me… an entire argument could have been prevented," he mumbles, more to himself than me, I think. "I'm heading out in about ten minutes, so I need your word that you will not try anything _stupid_ while I'm away." He looks at me expectantly, as if waiting for an apology from a child who got caught stealing a cookie before supper.

I get a brief surge of energy and reach up to push his hand away, not letting him get away with all of this.

"Ana," he snaps, and this is _all_ it takes for me to snap, too.

"Please!" I beg, my voice incredibly hoarse from all the crying but still raised in volume, nonetheless. "Just let me be. For _once_ , Christian."

Within a matter of seconds, Mrs. Jones and Taylor are both by our side, and Taylor lays a firm hand on Christian's arm which Mrs. Jones comes to my side.

It's just too much.

I stumble off of the stool and head toward the bathroom, ignoring everyone else in the room. Perhaps a hot bath is what I need to sooth my nerves and, more importantly, to help me forget that this morning ever happened.

Christian follows me—of course. When I reach the bathroom, obviously not able to do what I'd planned—shutting and locking the door behind me—I turn to face my enraged husband. " _Enough_. I'm too tired," I plead, hating how emotional and weak I've become.

Christian stares me down with a serious expression but softens his eyes and voice. "Ana. I need you safe. You understand that, I know you do."

Reluctantly, and with a small sniffle, I nod.

"This has gone _much_ too far," he continues, and I see his remorse over this whole situation. He's right. This is out of hand, and I wish I'd never gotten out of bed today. "I didn't mean to upset you, frighten you—whatever I have done, but you have to understand—"

"Christian. Go," I whisper. "Go. This conversation is over. I'm done."

He looks as if he's going to say more, but wisely, he just nods curtly. "Can I kiss you goodbye?" he asks in a soft voice.

I shake my head a little—yes, I'm that upset—and I see the pain in his eyes.

I sigh—why do I always give him his way?— and I place my hand in his, raising it to his mouth. He plants a firm kiss to the back of my hand before releasing it and either he's confident enough that I'm not going to try to leave, or he trusts his security to keep me home, because he says no more. The conversation is over, and he turns to leave.

Minutes later, I hear the ding of the elevator from where I stand in the doorway of the bathroom. Knowing that the door is closing and that he's leaving, I surrender to the overwhelming pain that makes my chest and stomach ache and sink to the floor in the hallway of Christian Grey's apartment.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey guys! I've decided to upload two days in a row as an apology for the two month gap between chapter one and two. As gathered by the last chapter's reviews, I am on the right track, and I am so glad that you're enjoying this. The only other thing I have to say is to have patience. We've caught the two lovers in the midst of a fight, so please bear with me and don't get angry-if you'd like to discuss something, please PM me! Thanks all!**

 **As always, please review; I love your feedback!**

Not two minutes pass before I hear a soft patter of footsteps approaching me, and I know that it is Mrs. Jones. I vaguely realize that she's become less formal around me since I found out about Blip.

Kneeling beside me, she takes my hands. "Up you go, darling. Come on," she says gently, bending down to help me up. I stand with her, being compliant, though I don't want to. As pitiful as it is, I just want to lie on the floor and cry some more.

"Shall we go sit in the library and I'll bring you some breakfast, or would you like to come out to the kitchen with me?" she asks sweetly, not releasing my hands. I assume it's because she wants to hold my attention, and sure enough, it's working—she knows what she's doing. Her kindness fills me with warmth and takes the edge off of my searing pain.

I shake my head at her. "You've done too much already," I murmur, beyond embarrassed that she's seeing me this way. I'll definitely have to get her something, a gift, for helping me.

She grins in amusement. "Mrs. Grey, please allow me to remind you that Mr. Grey pays me _very_ well. The least I can do is make sure you get breakfast. I'm simply trying to make you and the little one as comfortable as possible," she explains carefully, thankfully not patronizing me as Christian was minutes ago. "Besides, you owe that to yourself, do you not?" I can tell she's trying hard not to overstep her boundaries, and I genuinely appreciate her fondness for Christian, Little Blip, and I.

Regardless, I look down at the floor, feeling ill at ease and self-conscious. I'm not used to being cared for so much, other than by Christian. "Kitchen," I finally murmur, relenting to her—it's not hard to say yes to this caring woman—and I look up in time to see her triumphant grin on full display.

"Please," I tack on at the last second.

"Good, good. The usual, Mrs. Grey?"

I nod, thankfully, and we find our way to eat-in kitchen. I climb gracelessly onto a stool, and Gail begins scurrying around the kitchen. Briefly, I wish I had my Blackberry so I could check my emails, knowing that my husband has probably left me a message with strict instructions to relax and to stay put. After she serves me my breakfast and I thank her, she leaves me alone, probably knowing I need some privacy to sort through my thoughts and emotions.

Christian's heated words from before come back to me. _You are not to go to work today, understood? I've given Taylor implicit instructions not to transport you there, and I expect you to follow this order as well._

A frown forms on my face. Does he not know how much his words hurt? How much of an impact they have on my heart? It is so frustrating that ninety percent of the time, he knows exactly what to say to make me smile with glee, but then there's that ten percent of him that is—that's just—what? An idiot, fool, an asinine _jerk_?

As these negative remarks fill my mind, I force myself to think back to the conversation I had with Flynn. Benefit of the doubt. _Benefit. Of. The doubt_.

As much as I try not to think about earlier, I can't help it.

You're not a prisoner, Anastasia, you know that. Why don't you have Kate come and take you downtown to do some shopping for Junior?

His words said one thing, his hard tone another. How does he expect me to enjoy myself when he leaves me like this? Worse yet, I haven't a clue how _any_ of this will be resolved. I don't know who's to say the first word when we see each other again or even _when_ I will see him again. I hate to think about who is to be the one to compromise, who will be the one to admit they were wrong.

I don't know how much time has passed as I sit at the breakfast bar, picking at my granola and yogurt, my sobs lessening little by little as my body exhausts itself. It's hard to believe with how tired I am that I'd just woken up a little while ago—or has it been hours? I just don't know, nor do I care. I begin wondering again when I will see him next, not even knowing when his work day ends or when his breaks are. We never quite got to that this morning before World War Grey happened.

As if answering my thoughts, I hear the elevator ping, the door opening, then footsteps approaching, and I immediately tense up, my subconscious telling me to prepare to flee, seeing how fighting is not an option for my now lethargic body. Slowly—and what, cautiously?—Christian steps out of the confines of the lift and looks up at me with a woeful, remorseful glance which I immediately look away from. I simply tuck my head back into my arms on the countertop, deciding that if I had to continue to face the wrath of Christian Grey, I'd just ignore him and hope he'd get the hint to leave me alone. I'm much too wounded, much too infuriated, to face him, not to mention how my breath still hitches as I continue to cry. I don't know what would come out of my mouth if I tried to react to whatever he has to say.

Much to my surprise, rather than another round of yelling, insults, or chastising, I feel him kneel beside my stool and place a tentative hand on the small of my back. My immediate reaction is to flinch, but he swiftly makes an attempt to reassure me in the most soothing tone I'm sure he can muster.

"Anastasia," he coos to me, his hand beginning to stroke my back in a small, gentle circle. His tone alone makes my already sore eyes fill with a fresh round of tears and makes my entire body tremble. "Hey," comes his now whispering voice. "Come here, baby. Please." And though I know that he's on his knees beside me, crouched down with his arms extended, waiting for me to fall into them, I can't make myself move. I'm unsure as to why, exactly—from fear, exhaustion, rage, sorrow?—but I'm only able to drown in my emotions upon the counter top.

I hear a sigh coming from Christian, but it's not the usual angry or exasperated sigh, it's one that mirrors my own feelings of apprehension and unhappiness, along with a _hint_ of desperation. It's then that I realize that he feel s at least a morsel of regret about what had unfolded earlier, and it's that realization which compels me to turn to him and throw myself into his arms, seeking—what? I'm not even sure if it's reassurance, an apology, or just _him_ that I want. An ironic thought drifts through my mind and leaves just as quickly as it came; this man, this maddening, impossible man who drove me to tears is also the compassionate, sensitive man that I want to hold me, kiss away my tears, and make it all better.

Christian. I want Christian. All I want is _Christian._

I lie there in his arms against him, still shaking but trying my hardest to fight off my tears. The attempt is futile, of course, and I find myself placing the blame on Little Blip again, wanting to think that I'm stronger than this.

"I-I'm sorry I hit you," I manage through shuddering breaths. "Please don't hate me."

"Of _course_ I don't hate you, Ana," he reassures me, his voice deliberately soft and calm. He simply holds me on the floor of the kitchen, his tender hand still rubbing my back to calm me. "I deserved it."

I shake my head vehemently. "No," I say with a fierceness that surprises me and causes me to look up at him, meeting his grey gaze. "No one deserves to be _hit_." Only after the words are out of my mouth do I realize how true that is, and how much it really reveals about how I honestly I loathe his old relationships and lifestyle and how he once treated me.

Never again.

After a few moments, his head nods up and down slowly in agreement. "You're absolutely right," he says quietly yet with a firmness in his voice. "It's all okay now, baby," he tells me sincerely, caressing my cheek. "I'm sorry I took it too far. I _always_ take it too far." I can tell he's very angry at himself and that his guilt is consuming him, and this is all it takes for my own fury to melt into nothing.

"I'll stay home," I yield, finally surrendering to his desires. As soon as the words are uttered, I know I can't take them back, but after this argument that could have been avoided by simply calling off from work, I don't _want_ to take them back.

His eyes search mine, as if looking for any trace of dishonesty or uncertainty, and he nods. "It'll be good for you," he responds, almost eagerly. "You're overworking yourself, baby. Stretching yourself so thin. I don't want that. I don't want an unhappy Ana." A small, hesitant smile graces his lips, and I can't help but return the small display of contentment.

"I know, Christian. I know you want what's best for me," I tell him, almost as if berating _myself_ this time. "I guess I'm the stubborn one this time, huh?" I know my cheeks are a bright shade of rose as I realize the trouble I've caused today by being so difficult.

He grins a bit more. "No, Ana, that's still me. You can't steal the crown on that one," he jokes, making the mood lighter and at the same time letting me know that this wasn't my fault. "Let's make a deal, okay? I can only expect for you to stay home from work if I give you something to do, yeah?"

I contemplate this, wondering where exactly he's going. "I guess that sounds fair," I acquiesce. "Where are you going with this, Mr. Grey?" Before I can continue my questioning, he carefully and tenderly picks me up from the floor and stands, cradling me in his arms. He makes his way toward the library, and my heart smiles at this attempt at comforting me.

"We'll make a list," he explains, pressing a kiss to my forehead as he carries me. "Several lists, actually. One will be for things _I_ expect you to do while I'm gone to assure that you won't wither away. Another for things _you_ want to do to occupy yourself—I'll be sure to get the materials necessary to allow you to do whatever you desire. The last will be for things that we will do together to make up for the time that you're cooped up here and—" His confident tone wavers suddenly. Uh oh. "And to make up for today and for how I've treated you lately."

He reaches my beloved window seat, and he sits down with me in his lap, grabbing the plush throw blanket— which is folded neatly beside us from the last time I used it. He drapes it over the front of us, and I rest my back against his front as I take in what he's just said.

"Christian—" I begin in a sigh, scrambling to pull my thoughts together. "You don't owe me anything."

"Oh, but I do," he nearly interrupts, barely allowing me enough time to get my words out. "I've treated you poorly, Anastasia, and there's no excuse for that, I know, but I am going to try my hardest from here on out to do better—for you. And… for our Little Blip, here." He places a tender hand on my swollen belly, and with a small smile, I place my hand over his. "I guess with my thick skull and all that it took what happened here today to get that through to me," he continues regretfully. "And for that I'm so sorry, Ana."

Oh, Fifty. _My_ Fifty. I love this man.

I stretch my neck up to kiss him on the cheek before nestling my head back on his chest, his chin resting atop of it. "Don't be so hard on yourself, Christian, okay? Sometimes… people fight. It's all part of getting to know each other. We discover something new about one another every day, don't you see that?"

He nods, a small, reluctant smirk on his face. "You're right, as usual," he relents, and I wear a triumphant smile.

"You're not going to drive me away, if that's what you're afraid of. I didn't leave when you thought for sure that I would, when you thought what you were hiding would ruin everything, and I won't leave now— _especially_ not now." I press his hand tighter to my stomach to emphasize my words, and he strokes his thumb across my cotton clad belly.

He sighs, and I know he's trying his hardest to believe my words. "Okay. Thank you for not being too upset with me."

"I could never stay mad at you, even if you're the most frustrating person I've ever met."

"Wow, baby. If my ego weren't so big, that would've hurt."

A huge grin blossoms on my face. Look at him, being all light hearted and teasing. It makes my heart sing with joy. "Yeah, yeah, you rich CEO."

"Hey there, little miss—that's _Mister_ CEO to you," he retorts, and I love my adolescent-like Fifty.

"Yes, sir," I counter back at him, a giggle bubbling within me before I even know it's coming.

What a stark difference from this morning, I think to myself, but I'm not complaining one bit.


	4. Chapter 4

After sitting with each other for quite a while, we go about the rest of our day as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened which tends to happen after we argue. Although inside, I feel my ego shrinking, my confidence wavering, and my feelings thoroughly hurt, I can't find it within myself to fight him anymore. It can't be good for me or Blip, and now that I have someone else to care for other than myself, I must think that way. It's the _only_ way I can think now.

That is, until I start going stir-crazy. We never made the lists Christian promised we'd make, not because he doesn't care but because he just gets busy with work. We haven't been bantering as much, haven't been interacting much other than before he goes to work in the morning and late at night when he's done with work, after he's done locking himself in that damned office of his. Sometimes, I wish I were more childish… I wish I had the nerve to pound on the door, let myself in, and crawl up in his lap, forbidding him to do his work like he forbade me to do mine. Perhaps, though, it'd be more effective for me to kneel at his feet, the thought of which warms my cheeks and makes me writhe in my window seat as I stare out the window.

The book in my lap forgotten, I mark my place and throw my blanket to the side, needing some human interaction. Christian doesn't get home for another fifteen minutes, and I've decided that it's an "Ana" night. It's my turn to have attention, and the best way to communicate that to him is to act petulantly, as that's the only time I seem to make him do a doubletake and shock him into listening to what I want to say. In fact, it's pretty damn disappointing that I have to act like a child to get his attention; it seems like it's down to a science, though. He only truly listens when I'm not being myself, so petulant it is.

No one else is around now, as it's Friday, also known as my night to make dinner. Well… not tonight. He can figure it out himself. Poor little Christian fumbling around in the kitchen… maybe he'll finally come to his senses and treat me like a fully-grown woman with a child on the way rather than a being child myself. I wander around the apartment, contemplating if I should put on some suggestive lingerie or hang out in the playroom. I decide that's not the best plan to get him to listen, as it would just give him his way even more. This is so damn frustrating, and quite frankly, I'm a little ashamed of myself because of my "genius" plan to get his attention. Sighing and running a hand through my hair, a habit I picked up from the devil himself, I plop myself down on the couch.

"Why is Daddy so…" I shake my head, talking down to my stomach, " _darn_ frustrating, little one?" When I get no response, I chuckle at myself and pretend Blip responds with something along the lines of "I know as much as you." I'm so lost in thoughts by the time I hear the front door opening that I jump as Christian walks into the main room. His face fills with immediate concern.

"Ana, you good, baby? You act like I scared the living hell out of you." I simply shrug as he sets his things down by the door and walks over to me, kneeling in front of me and placing his hand on my stomach ever so gently, as if stroking the head of a newborn. "How's our Junior, hmm? I thought about him—or her—all day. Could barely concentrate on my meetings, pointless as they are."

"At least you could go to them," I remark with a bit of snark in my voice, resisting the urge to push his hand off my stomach. Thankfully, he soon retreats and moves to sit beside me on the couch, bending his leg in front of himself to face me.

"No, I promise, they were quite unbearable," he jokes, probably assuming I'm kidding around, as well. If that was any farther from the truth…

"First world problem, though; am I correct, Mr. Grey?" I ask, raising my eyebrows. He nods thoughtfully, and a crooked grin appears on his face, _the_ crooked grin, the one that makes me weak to my knees. My resolve almost cracks.

"I guess you're quite right, Anastasia. How unthoughtful of me to even bring it up," he says, and I can tell he's trying to read the expression on my face, to no avail. "Are you good, baby? You seem…" he shakes his head, obviously not sure what's up with me. "Angry? Pissed, actually."

I shrug and look away, and when he reaches out a hand to take mine, I pull my hand away like his is a snake lurching out to sink its teeth into me. "Okay, now… what's wrong, Ana?" he asks in a no-nonsense tone.

"I don't have to explain myself to you, now do I?"

"No, I guess not, but you do need to check your tone. I just walked through the door, and you're absolutely pissed at the world, Anastasia. Don't take whatever you're going through out on me, especially if you won't even tell me what's wrong." When I look up at his face, I see a bit of hurt in his eyes, and the word"good" comes to my mind. Why am I doing this?

And, of course, my hormones get the best of me. I mutter an audible "fuck" as my eyes burn with tears. I shake my head at myself and don't even make the effort to wipe away the hot salt water that runs down my cheeks. "No, you know what, Christian, _you_ check _your_ self. You did this, not me," I accuse, pointing a finger in his general direction as my vision is so blurry, I can barely even see him.

"What did I do _now_?" he asks incredulously. "I give you _everything_ —"

"Except for a life! Except for my independence!" I raise my voice and sniffle as my nose threatens to run.

He sighs. "We're on this again, Ana? We talked about this. It's for the baby."

"It's for the baby, my _ass_. This is all about you, Christian. You, you, you, and no one else. You're selfish. You want me here so that you know where I am and what I'm doing. You want control. You need control." And as I say it aloud, it dawns on me: this is all about my Fifty Shades and his need for control. I hadn't considered it before, that this might be a deeper thing than just wanting me home for the baby until my mind made me say the words to him out loud. I know I've hurt him this time, my words so abrasive that there's no way they didn't sting. I blink the tears out of my eyes and look up at him, but he's looking down, his limbs limp and his head bowed. "I… I'm sorry."

He shakes his head, getting up from his seat.

"No—" I stand up and put myself in his way. "No. You don't get to run away."

"Anastasia, let me through. Now." His tone is so flat that it terrifies me. This isn't good.

"No. This is about control. You need it, don't you? You need this."

"Get. Out. Of. My. Way," he says slowly, but not threateningly—thank God.

I bite my lip as fresh tears make their way down the familiar trails on my cheeks. I step forward and wrap my arms around him. "Go. Go call Flynn. Please. Let's go see him—together—tonight if possible," I order in a soft tone. He doesn't return the embrace, but as I let him by and he walks away, I see him pull his phone out of his pocket, dial a number, and run his hand through his hair.


	5. Chapter 5

As I sit back on the couch, curling up, I listen in on Christian's conversation from the next room over. I can't make out many words other than "fucked up" and a grumbled "Anastasia" here and there, but within minutes, he's back out in the main room, joining me on the couch. This time, he faces forward and not toward me.

"He'll be over in thirty minutes," he mutters, looking down. "He said I should apologize for my obtuseness—no, he didn't say it that way, but that's what he meant—so I'm sorry."

As much as I appreciate his apology, I don't think it's genuine, so I simply offer him a half-hearted shrug. "As soon as you begin to mean it, I'll accept it," I respond, not feeling the love, as they say.

He sighs. "I do mean it, Anastasia. Why are you being so frustrating?" he asks, his frustration clear in his tone.

"Because you're being an ass!" I snap, throwing a glare at him. He raises his eyebrows as he looks back at me. Good. I got his attention. "Just because your therapist told you to apologize, that doesn't make it real!"

Nodding, he sighs. "Fair. I see where you're coming from." I shake my head and get up. "I'll be in _my_ room. Remember that one? The one that's not yours?" The pain in his expression answers my question. I storm off to the bedroom that was supposed to be mine once upon a time, the _submissive's_ bedroom. I go inside to the almost sterilely clean room and sit delicately on the edge of one of the chairs, feeling uncomfortable just entering this room, but I needed to go somewhere that was mine and mine alone. I sit there, looking out the window, seeing the cars drive down the road and seeing all the lights of the night.

After some time passes, and I realize I've been stewing in my own annoyance and grief for much too long, I see someone pull into the parking garage and wonder if it's Flynn. The sleek black car seems like something he'd drive, and I think it would suit him. Sure enough, a few minutes later, Christian is knocking on my door softly, calling my name and letting me know that John Flynn has arrived. I take a minute or so to compose myself, to make sure all my emotions are in check before going back out to the main room.

Flynn approaches me with a friendly smile and an extended hand when I reach the two men in the sitting area, and I shake his hand. "Thank you for coming, Dr. Flynn. Especially on such short notice."

"John, please. And Christian here compensates me for my time, so don't you worry about that," he jokes, making Christian chuckle reluctantly and bringing a smile to my face as well. "Shall we sit?" he asks, and we all make our way to a seat, Christian and I sitting on opposite ends of the couch—which must speak volumes to Flynn. Across from us, Flynn takes in the scene before him, and it must be truly a sight to see. A barely pregnant woman with pinkened cheeks from crying on and off all day, and a pissed off man with messy hair from running his hand through it in frustration. He must think we look ridiculous, but we're probably not the worst messes he sees daily—or at least I hope. "So… let's start with Christian, since you called. Tell me what's brought me here."

He takes a deep breath, and I almost expect him to scream. Contrary to my expectations, he starts to talk in a calm, even tone, and I'm sure he and Flynn have worked on this time and time again. "Ana is pregnant, which you already knew, and I asked her to stay home so she didn't overwork herself. She spreads herself so thin," he says, glancing over at me. I must bite my lip to stay quiet and not interrupt, and I must say, I'm impressed with my own restraint. "But now she doesn't want to stay home. She made a comment about my… issues, and it upset me, so she told me to call you. End of story."

Flynn nods, taking in what Christian has told him. "Okay, so to make sure I have this correct, you were feeling upset because you and Ana had a disagreement about her staying home which turned into an argument?" Christian contemplates for a second, then nods. "So, you had an argument… there must be more to this if I'm here right now, am I wrong?" Christian sighs and shrugs, and I look over at him.

"You know there's more," I tell my other half, trying not to sound accusatory. When he doesn't say anything in response, I look over at Flynn for guidance as to how to move the conversation forward.

He just nods at me. "Go ahead, Ana. Let's put this together piece by piece, then we can start to find a solution."

I give him a small smile because that sounds completely reasonable. I like Flynn even more now that I have this kind of relationship with him—he's technically my therapist, too, right? "So… Christian is right. We did get in an argument. We had an argument before, too, which involved me slapping him," I admit, blushing. "I know it wasn't okay, it was completely irrational, and I apologized profusely." Flynn nods his approval at my recognition of the behavior being unacceptable, I presume, so I continue. "I decided…" I take a deep breath, not wanting to admit this to Christian. "I decided the only way to get through to him was to act a little juvenile. To goad him a bit into realizing something was wrong. Once we were both upset and riled up a bit, I finally realized what was going on."

Flynn continues to nod at appropriate increments until I stop talking. "Okay, and what's going on exactly, Ana?"

"She thinks I have control issues," Christian blurts out, a hand fisted in his hair. Uh oh.

"Christian, we've talked about that before, no?" Flynn acknowledges. "She's not completely wrong."

"No, but she also doesn't have to act like a fucking _child_."

"Then stop treating me like one!" I snap, tearing up. "God damnit!" I say aloud without meaning to, wiping at my eyes. Christian looks over at me in concern. Damn him for being worried about me when we're mad at each other. I want him to be mad, too, so I don't feel bad about it.

"Okay, let's take some deep breaths and talk calmly like adults, please," Flynn interrupts before we get too out of hand. I sigh and do as he advises. I take a deep, cleansing breath and look over at Christian, tears still collecting in my eyes and the occasional one spilling from them.

"Now, Ana, I want to address the slapping part of your story. Does this happen often or—"

"Absolutely not," I cut in, shaking my head.

"Never," Christian adds. "That's what made it so shocking. But I guess it was my fault… I told her she was thoughtless and didn't care about the baby which is far from the truth."

"And why did you say it, then?" Flynn speculates.

"I was angry," he admits, looking over at me apologetically, and I wipe my face again.

Flynn nods. "Thank you for acknowledging that. I'm sure Ana appreciates that," he says, looking for me for validation, which he gets in the form of a nod. "Okay, so how do we move forward from this?" he asks us. "Any ideas before I give my advice?"

I look down at my lap, fidgeting with my shirt. I shrug. "I could work on keeping my emotions more in check. It's hard with my hormones and all, but I can work on keeping them at bay."

I get a nod from Flynn. "Good. I think that's a good start. Christian?" He simply shrugs. "I think you need to work on letting Ana have her freedom. She's a grown woman, Christian, and I know you're afraid of what will happen if you give up that control, but she'll start resenting you if you keep her under lock and key. You know that, don't you?"

Christian nods. "I'll work on it. And… I'll work on keeping my cool. I've been losing it too much lately."

Flynn offers us a smile. "Anything else you can work on together?"

"I want to go back to work," I blurt out, avoiding eye contact with Christian.

"No," he nearly snaps. He takes a breath. "No," he says more calmly. "Let's just… let's make those lists we discussed."

"I'm going back to work," I say again, with more confidence.

"Christian," Flynn begins, "she's not that pregnant yet. It's reasonable for her to be working still. Maybe instead of limiting her work hours, you can work on encouraging more self-care once she's out of work for the day. Do more things together that are enjoyable. That way, she can still get the balance of work and play, as they say."

Christian hangs closely onto every word this man says, and I can see how much he truly trusts him and what he suggests. I can tell they've worked through some challenging times together. He nods a few times, contemplating this. "How about… you don't go to work as much? You only work a few hours a day?"

I shake my head. "No. I want to work my normal hours. I'm fully capable. Later, when I'm bigger and more pregnant, we can talk about stepping back a bit before my leave, though. That, I'm agreeable to."

He sighs but nods, and I see this as a victory. Flynn nods, as well, and I think he agrees with me. "Do we need to discuss safe outlets for stress, or do you think we're good there?"

I shrug, and Christian rolls his eyes and recites from memory—because I'm sure he's heard it a thousand times—exercise, hobbies, eating right, and calm discussions."

Flynn laughs. "You got it. Hit the head on the nail. Are we good here, you two? I'm here anytime you need me, obviously you know that, or I wouldn't be here right now. I think it's time you two sit and discuss how you're going to avoid this situation later, which I'd be happy to moderate if needed."

Christian and I lock eyes, and I think we agree instantly that this conversation has cleared our heads enough to be able to have a level-headed conversation without Flynn present. "I think we're fine, but thank you, John," Christian amends. "Thank you for coming over so late," he says sincerely, standing to shake his hand. I follow suit and shake hands with the man who reasoned with us both and got us to a healthier place. We walk him to the elevator, and once he's gone, Christian and I turn to look at each other, neither one of us saying a thing, but we don't need to. We see in each other's eyes how apologetic we are and how we never want an argument to get to this level again.


End file.
